#also finally managed a successful magnetic manicure so huge night all around

[chrispineofficial]

watching that Adolescence miniseries i kept hearing about and it’s fucking wild actually

[louislouisrap]

Roarin Twenties ch. 1

Ah hello it’s been awhile

This was supposed to be a short thing but it turned into a long thing. I’m thinking it’s probably going to be my longest fic yet and I think for now the first-gen quirk idea is gonna be put on hold (´･ω･`)

With that said have some more Kirikacchako ☆*ヾ(-∀・*) Although it’s more like Kacchako and Kiribaku and eventually it’ll become Kirikacchako? I haven’t thought that far ahead but poor Bakugo is tormented by the fact that he’s in love with two people. So sad.

You can also keep up with this on my Ao3: louislouisrap

A fancy gala is the perfect opportunity to dredge up the feelings you've been trying to push down.

//

Bakugo stared at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. It wasn’t that he looked bad--no, he looked too good, too fancy for his liking. However, hard as he’d tried, there had been no worming his way out of the dress code for tonight’s event. Best Jeanist wouldn’t let him.

Bakugo had been a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency for two, almost three years now, almost immediately after graduating. Kirishima and Sero had been especially surprised, and even Best Jeanist himself had been at a loss for words for a few moments when he’d opened the door to his agency and found Bakugo standing outside with his trademark scowl, sidekick employment papers filled out and at the ready.

Bakugo knew that being a sidekick at Best Jeanist’s agency would not be easy, mostly for his ego. He’d been absolutely humiliated during his first internship with the then-number four hero, though looking back at that time as an 18-year-old with less of a temper and two more years of experience behind him, Bakugo could admit to himself that he’d been a huge brat. He had the advantage of brute strength, but Best Jeanist had years of experience to draw from. Lightning quick control of his quirk, assessing any situation and acting in the blink of an eye, the ability to remain calm and collected under pressure. UA had opened those doors for Bakugo. He had learned to be calm and to be quick, but Best Jeanist could do it better; by age 18 Bakugo had finally matured enough to swallow his pride and accept help from the same man who’d dismissed him before as reckless and unruly.

And it had been one of the best decisions of his life. He was no Present Mic, but under Best Jeanist’s watch, Bakugo’s public image slowly morphed from that of unstable hothead to an alright guy. He had learned how to put on a halfway decent outward appearance, and while his public speaking skills left much to be desired, at least he no longer scared children. He had honed his agility and critical thinking skills and was truly a force to be reckoned with. Now, at the tender age of 21, he had finally broken into the top ten heroes in Japan and, after a year of working his ass off, was finally going to open his own pro hero agency.

As if the Japanese Hero Billboard Chart in itself wasn’t a big enough event for Bakugo, Best Jeanist had reminded him that there was always an evening gala following the stage presentation.

“So when you say gala…” Bakugo leaned against his desk at the agency, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Formal wear, Bakugo,” Best Jeanist replied from his office chair and Bakugo swore he heard a hint of delicate glee in his voice.

The explosion hero slapped the edge of the desk as he rose to his feet. “Well, you all have fun then, I’ll be sure I’m watching something else from my couch at home.”

Best Jeanist sighed. “I thought by now I’d have drilled it into your head that appearances are everything, Bakugo Katsuki, but it appears I’ve still misjudged your thick skull after all these years.”

Bakugo stretched his arms out in exasperation. “Look, I’ll be at the main event, isn’t that enough? What the hell else is there to do at a fancy fuckin’ dinner?”

“Networking, most importantly,” Best Jeanist countered, poking a well-manicured finger in the other man’s direction. “But it’s also another public image opportunity, and one that you sorely need now that you’re in the top ten. You’ll be meeting with members of the press, political figures and public servants who will be looking to you for protection and who will be counting on you now more than ever.”

Bakugo grunted and looked away, crossing his arms with a ferocious petulance.

“You want to be the number one hero, Bakugo. That means taking everything that comes along with it.”

“Yeah, okay!” Bakugo spat angrily, still looking away. “You made your point, alright? But the event’s tomorrow, I don’t even have a--” He stopped himself before he could get out the rest of that sentence, stunned into silence by his own moment of idiocy.

Best Jeanist leaned back in his chair and though his mouth was hidden from view, Bakugo knew he was smiling underneath his denim costume. “I see you remembered who you work for.” He pointed to the storage closet behind Bakugo’s desk. “There’s a tailored suit in there. Charcoal, orange tie, black Oxfords. I assume you at least have a dress shirt at home that fits, but just in case I’ve included that as well.” Bakugo opened his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

Bakugo’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at the number three hero before plodding over to the closet and pulling out a thick wooden hanger, heavy with the weight of the suit, covered in a black garment bag. He slung the bag over his arm and bent down to snatch up the pair of gleaming black Oxfords on the floor. He’d never held anything quite so nice (or expensive) before, and he hated it.

“Thanks,” he drawled, voice thick with disapproval.

Best Jeanist inclined his head and Bakugo could just feel the smugness radiating from his half-hidden face. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Bakugo.”

Bakugo swiped the rest of his things from his desk before heading home for the day. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already halfway out the door, “go fuckin’ pat yourself on the back some more.”

And now, here he was, glaring at the figure glaring back at him. By some magic, or through powers that Bakugo didn’t really want to think about, the suit fit perfectly. It was a beautiful, smokey charcoal color that contrasted sharply against the satiny, vivid orange of his tie, a nod to Bakugo’s hero costume. The lapels were thin and classy and the two black buttons down the front gleamed. (There was a note pinned to the jacket as well: “Close first button ONLY”.) The waist was tapered and form-fitting without being constricting, and the edge of the jacket formed around the curve of his butt and not a millimeter lower. The crease running down each pant leg was razor sharp, and the break just barely hit the tops of his impossibly shiny Oxfords. Best Jeanist had even included a pair of black socks.

Bakugo was immediately reminded of the male models he’d seen in the magazines at his father’s workplace. Yeah, he admitted, he lookedgood, but at what cost? Already the tie around his neck was stifling, and he resisted the urge to rip the thing off and burn it up in his palm.

He inspected his hair. He knew Best Jeanist would give him shit about not styling it, but Bakugo couldn’t have cared less. His sandy blonde spikes were slightly less unruly just because there was now less of it--in the past couple years he’d preferred to have his hair cropped a bit closer to his head in a more professional looking fade. That was enough of a style, right? Right.

Bakugo adjusted his lapel one last time before tearing himself away from the mirror and resigning himself to his well-dressed fate. Soon this night would be over, and he could go back to worrying about the more important aspects of his career. The entire day had been stressful enough; he’d managed to keep his composure professional at the stage event in the wake of his firecracker nerves--excitement, nervousness, pride--and even said a few words for himself that were a far cry from his declarations of singular success at the UA sports festival five years ago. The mobs of press that swarmed the heroes after the event ended had been the anxiety icing on the cake; this gala would be a shake of anxiety sprinkles on top of that. Bakugo looked forward to coming home afterwards and shoving his suit in the darkest corner of his closet, never to be seen again.

His phone chimed suddenly and Bakugo strode over to his nightstand to inspect it.

Kirishima: hey man sorry again i couldn’t be there for your big day, but i saw everything on tv!!! you were so fuckin cool!!! really proud of you :) gettin ready to head back home in a couple days, lookin forward to hanging out and going back to the gym

Bakugo sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. If today’s events had given him acute anxiety, then Kirishima was utterly chronic. The realization that he liked his best friend had been slow to dawn on him, though perhaps that hadn’t been entirely unintentional. Bakugo had had an inkling while they were still students, but at the time he’d been so hellishly focused on his goal to become the number one hero that he’d pushed aside any feelings that had bubbled up whenever he and Kirishima spent time together. Which, admittedly, was often.

There was something absolutely magnetic about the redhead, and Bakugo, hard as he may have tried, was not immune to his pull. Kirishima’s enthusiasm, his strength, his spirit, energized Bakugo mentally in a way he couldn’t begin to explain. It was almost intoxicating, and even after their class had graduated, Bakugo couldn’t stay away. Not that Kirishima would have let him, though. They had become practically inseparable by that time, and when Kirishima broke the news that he’d been accepted at a pro hero agency a mere 15 minute metro ride from Bakugo’s apartment, it had been difficult for him to hide his excitement.

And yet, it was as if there was still an invisible wall between them, with both of them unable to break through to the other’s side. A hesitancy to dig deeper, to get closer, and when they felt themselves reaching that wall, they backed off. The question of whether or not one liked the other more than a friend hung heavily over them, had been for years, but neither one had felt confident enough to coax it out into the open.

What if he asked, and Kirishima said no? The thought had kept him up at night on more than one occasion, and for awhile Bakugo had been content to let his curiosity die down for awhile. But now things felt different. Kirishima had been away for two weeks volunteering at a new pro hero agency in a location that was often gently referred to as “underserved” and "at-risk". The agency was lacking in staff, manpower, resources, and Kirishima had generously offered his time and services to help get the place up and running. Bakugo had been genuinely happy for him, and didn’t seem too perturbed in the beginning by the fact that the town was a good three-hour ride by bullet train.

“You better not slack off at the gym while you’re gone,” Bakugo had warned him with a grin. “Otherwise be prepared to get your ass handed to you when you get back.”

But now that it had been two weeks of physical separation, Bakugo was becoming acutely aware of the strange emptiness he felt without Kirishima there, and it was digging up feelings that he’d hoped he’d buried long ago.

Bakugo was preparing to text back when two more notifications popped up on his screen.

Ashido: you better show up tonight!!! i know you hate this kind of thing but i also made a bet with sero so if you could just pull through for me that’d be great <3

Bakugo snorted. Along with Kirishima, Bakugo had had a hard time getting rid of Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari. Through sheer determination, they’d glommed onto him in their school days in spite of how aloof Bakugo had tried to appear. Truthfully, he hadn’t really minded them and perhaps he’d been a tiny bit grateful for their tenacity, as he was not very adept nor experienced at making the first move in friendships. Kirishima and the rest of them had effectively done the hard work for him, and by their last year at UA, Bakugo sincerely cherished them as a weird sort of family.

He swiped to the next message.

Uraraka: Can’t wait to see you tonight!! It’s gonna be fun :D

Ah, the other source of Bakugo’s unrest, Uraraka Ochako.

She’d never really been on his radar in school. Sure, he respected the hell out of her and her skills, and he’d seen how much impressive progress she’d made in their three years at UA, but outside of that, they’d never really gotten that close. It wasn’t until they graduated that a friendship began to blossom.

They’d both gotten jobs as sidekicks in towns next to each other, a pleasant surprise they’d learned after they’d met at the same bar after their shifts. The first time around, they’d spent a few hours there chatting, Bakugo finding that it was quite easy to talk with Uraraka. They talked about her parents’ business and how she’d begun sending them money to help expand it and buy better equipment. Bakugo told her about how Best Jeanist was doing, and his experience as a sidekick so far. They exchanged horror stories of all sorts, from the embarrassing to the truly awful parts of the job.

He’d walked her home when it got dark, and they discovered they lived only about a 10 minute walk from one another.

After that, Uraraka would sometimes show up at the end of Bakugo’s shifts on her days off, to offer some company and joke around with him, especially during his late-night patrols which were mind-numbingly boring more often than not. Bakugo then began returning the favor, sometimes bringing Uraraka a sandwich or a coffee from the convenience store.

Eventually, they’d started hanging out outside of the work environment, though usually not alone; Bakugo enjoyed spending time with her and Kirishima the most, though they got together often with the Bakusquad, mostly with Ashido making the plans.

As time passed Bakugo realized, to his dissatisfaction, that when he and Uraraka were together, he felt that same nervous excitement in the pit of his stomach that bubbled up whenever he was with Kirishima. She was innocently funny, which contrasted endearingly with the fact that Bakugo’s foul mouth entertained her to no end. She was earnest, headstrong and unflinchingly devoted to putting her life on the line as a pro support hero.

He was attracted to that, to her. To him.

He was in love with two fucking people. And he had no idea if they felt the same way.

So he buried his feelings, simple as that. If they felt strongly enough, he reasoned, they could bring it up first, but he wasn’t going to be the one to wear his heart on his sleeve and have it broken, or worse, ruin the friendships he already had. Not only that, but he was also pretty sure he didn’t know how to tell someone he liked them.

He texted back:

Me: If this is fun then I’ve died and gone to hell. See you soon round face

Well. There was really no backing out now. Bakugo gathered his keys and his courage, pocketed his phone and headed outside to hail a taxi.